Chaos in the Metaphor Machine

Gears of simile grind and screech,
As analogies tangle and breach.
The machine sputters, coughs, and whirs,
While figurative language blurs.

**Memories like serpentine crowds**
Slither through synaptic clouds.
Imagination’s net descends,
Into chaos that never ends.

Broken boxes of bygone days,
Scatter ‘neath metaphoric haze.
**The sea, hypnotic and chaotic,**
Crashes through circuits neurotic.

Words collide in frenzied dance,
Syntax loses all semblance.
The machine, once orderly,
Now spews verbal anarchy.

In this linguistic maelstrom wild,
Where reason’s thrown and sense exiled,
We find, amidst the word-debris,
A spark of creativity.

For in this chaos, we might see,
The birth of new poetry.
The metaphor machine, though broke,
Gives life to verses once unspoke.